


Flashback

by sans_souci2



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sans_souci2/pseuds/sans_souci2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On op goes bad but at least Steve's okay.<br/>At least that's what Danny thinks at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flashback

**Flashback**

 

This searching warehouses with his heart in his damn throat is going to stop or Danny's going to kill McGarrett himself–at least then he won't have to be terrified that someone else has.

Let it just be noted, he says to himself, that I'm walking and not running, a fact that honestly deserves a page in the record books. 

As soon as he spots the empty stretcher his stomach knots and the walking he was so proud of turns into a flat out sprint. Then he sees Steve and stops in his tracks.

Good fucking news for a change.

He's on the floor but sitting up between two EMTs which is a hell of a lot better than the flat on his back pose that Danny was expecting. It sounds like he's refusing to let them check him out–no surprise there. They've just handed him a towel to dry his face and blot some of the water out of his hair which he's doing when Danny walks up.

"Hey,” he murmurs, dropping down on one knee to get a better look, “So you look ... pretty wet?“

Steve's head is down and he's pressing the towel against his forehead which means no eye contact yet and that makes Danny just a little nervous. Then as Steve continues the silent treatment, keeping his face buried in the towel, he realizes that his breathing sounds a little like Gracie's did when she had croup. Danny looks around the room. He's not sure what went on but Steve smells like mildew and rust and is soaked–not caught in the rain soaked, but fell in the pool soaked. The tub of filthy water he passed on the way over must have been involved.

“What, not happy to see me?“ He gives Steve's shoulder a tentative squeeze, starting to hear the distant sound of alarms going off, “You okay?” When he doesn't get an answer, “You want me to see if I have any dry clothes for you in my trunk?”

Head still down Steve murmurs, “No, I just want ... to go.”

This is when Danny would normally launch into a rant about needing to stick around and get checked out but he says nothing because he's starting to get a bad feeling in his gut. Then Steve looks up at him.

 _Talk about a bad feeling._

Steve's eyes are swollen and blood shot and the desperate look in them screams that so much is wrong Danny has to bite his bottom lip to keep from wrapping his arms around him and asking what it is. “You want to go ... now?” He asks like he can't understand the fricking English language. The fact is it isn't far from the truth–not with Steve looking the way he does.

“We haven't checked him out yet detective, we really should–”

“No!” In one of those explosive, out of no where moves of his, Steve jumps up and tosses the wet towel on the floor, “I'm getting out of here–” He tries to take off but sways when what looks like the mother of all head rushes hits him followed by a wet phlegmy coughing jag that forces him to bend over and grab his knees. Before Danny or the EMTs can say or do much of anything, he takes a ragged breath and straightens up.

“Careful Steve - you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“You didn't sound all that fine just then-” Danny’s getting ready to give his you really should let them check you out speech when he sees something on Steve's chin. Call him crazy but last he knew, being fine and having blood in your spit didn't belong on the same page. “Okay, you're getting checked out, babe, you don't look so good.”

Steve bats his hand away with about ten times the force he expected, “I'm fine, damn it! You either heIp me get out of here or you get the hell out of my way!”

“Jesus Christ. You're coughing up blood – you call that fine?”

“Danny ... ” Steve grabs his arm. The look in his eyes is determined and desperate and like nothing he's ever seen in them before, "I need ... you need ... to get me out of here." Then he adds a desperate sounding, “Please.”

What the fuck? It's hard to tell with his eyes so messed up but it looks like he's fighting back tears. Danny wants to think he's got it wrong but hell if Steve isn't brushing angrily at his cheeks a second later.

 That does it.

“Come on babe." He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist and ignores the EMTs. "My car's this way.”

______~_____

As soon as Danny unlocks the front door Steve heads upstairs without a word. In less than five minutes he's back wearing swim trunks and holding a towel. The white knuckled grip he has on the towel makes Danny's chest ache, “You can't be serious?”

“It's not like..., I have a choice.”

“I'm guessing talking about it is pretty much out of the question?”

He nods, looking more apologetic than defiant and Danny steps aside, because fuck it all, as much as he hates it, he knows how this works – knows what Steve needs to do after an op goes really bad and from the little bit Steve had told him in the car –this one had turned into the shit show from hell. Not saying a word, he opens the door for him and stands there holding it, not coming back in until he’s watched him make his way down to the water and do one of those effortless little dives of his into the surf.

_______~______

He's gone so long Danny finally goes looking for him.

When he spots him, he stands at the water's edge, his feet sinking deeper and deeper into the sand for the twenty minutes it takes Steve to make it in - feeling sure if he takes his eyes off of him for just a second he might slip below the surface and never come back up

The minute Steve stumbles up out of the water, as soon as Danny sees he's going to be able to make it up to the house, he scrambles back ahead of him and drops down in one of the beach chairs, trying like crazy to look the opposite of the horrible way he feels. When he hears his heavy breathing, he opens his eyes like he was napping, forcing himself ignore his blue tinged lips and God awful empty eyes. He even manages to sound slightly pissed off when he sits up, “ So you're finally back? Not that you deserve it, but, go get your sorry ass in the shower and I might just have a cold one waiting when you get out.”

______~_______

Forty minutes later and Steve’s not back.

Danny goes upstairs, tiptoeing just in case he's asleep .

No such luck.

He's not in the bedroom and the shower's not on. The only sign he's even been in the room is a pair of wet trunks on the floor.

Then he hears it.

A muffled whimper.

“Steve?”

The silence is pure agony.

“You okay in there.”

When he gets no answer, he opens the bathroom door and that's when he sees him.

Oh fucking Mother Mary.

He's sitting naked in the shower stall, head down, arms wrapped around his knees and he's crying. Not loud wails or shuddery sobs- just heart wrenching reluctant whimpers that sound like they're tearing out little pieces of his soul.

“Steve? “

“Go ... pl…ease ... , just go.

Like hell.

He's freezing , and pale and won't talk or make eye contact so Danny bulldozes his way into the shower and somehow gets him up and out of it. The next few minutes are spent wrapping him in a towel and getting him over to the bed, then drying him off just a little before easing him down and pulling the comforter up over him.

As soon as he has him in bed, Danny goes around to the other side and lies down behind him. They’re both on their sides so he can't see Steve's face but he can feel him shiver and tugs the comforter up around his chin then wraps his arms around him. When the shivering stops he shifts his position just enough to smooth his hand over Steve's back, making slow circles–not talking–just trying to tell him he's there and listening whenever he's ready.

Surprisingly it doesn't take very long.

“That wasn't the first time.”

“The first time what?”

“That I was ... tor... tured like that.”

“Oh fuck–” his hand stills, he feels like he's in a vacuum–like it's those god awful few seconds right before a storm hits, “I'm listening.”

“It was ... five years ago,” Steve sounds like every word is a monumental effort, “ I was in Pakistan ... on loan to the CIA,”

“Okay,” Danny gives his shoulder a squeeze, “What happened?” As if it might somehow protect him from what's coming, Danny pulls the comforter up a little higher and tucks it tighter under his chin. The way Steve's voice has gone all hollow and flat makes him wish like crazy that he could tell him that it's okay, that he doesn't have to do this, but the fact is, he does. Danny knows a little bit about almost dying and about being so scared you shit yourself. He knows the kind of festering wound it can leave behind–knows that it's the kind of wound that has to be lanced and drained completely or it will drop you to your knees again and again. He scoots closer, draping an arm over Steve, “ Talk to me.”

_______________~______________

Sukkur, Pakistan

2006

 _Tell us what we want to know and we'll stop ._

He wants to laugh.

As tempting as it is, telling isn't an option. Hundreds of hours of training and, before that, thousands of steel-eyed stares from his father had drilled the fact into him: a SEAL doesn't talk and a McGarrett never caves in.

This was going to end one of two ways–either he died refusing to speak or his partner, who looked close to dead last time he saw him, miraculously showed up and save his ass.

He pegged the odds at about a thousand to one.

Very well Commander McGarrett , it's your choice.

The hood comes down over his head and he's shoved back under the brackish cold water. Two sets of hands hold his shoulders down grinding them against the bottom of the tub. He barely feels the pain though–his body has a pecking order of sorts when it comes to things like this. Water rushing up his nose, wet burlap pressing against his face, lungs starting to burn, those are the sensations that get first dibs on his attention.

He tries desperately not to choke and suck in the foul water but they've got his legs hooked over the end of the tub so that when they push him backwards he's practically hanging vertically which means putrid water rushes into his nose and down his throat. He chokes and draws the liquid into his airway and then it's just a matter of time before blinding white light explodes behind his eyes and his body goes limp.

“Get him up.”

This time when he comes to there are flecks of blood swirling in the frothy liquid he vomits. It’s not too concerning, he's pretty sure it's just the superficial blood vessels in his throat starting to tear because he's vomiting so violently.

“Who is your contact at the Embassy?”

“What do you know about the Bashai plant?”

He only hears pieces of the questions, which doesn't matter since he's not going to answer them anyway.

“Answer us Commander McGarrett and this will stop.”

But he doesn't answer and it doesn't stop and the hood's back on and he's being tilted backwards into the tub. They do it again and again until his eyes are nearly swollen shut and mucous continually runs from his nose. He starts to pray–not to live but to die.

Danny hates to ask, but Steve's been quiet for too long, “ So what finally happened?”

 _What happened?_

He's only half conscious when they submerge him the fourth time and it takes much less time for the light to explode behind his eyes. This time he passes out completely and they have to pound on his chest to wake him up and make him vomit. There are more flecks of blood, even a few clots but he barely sees them, his eyes are so swollen.

“You're not going to be able to take much more of this Commander, just tell us who-”

And then the place goes pitch black and automatic weapon fire almost deafens him. His captors drop him on the wet cement floor and run for cover but he's too far gone to interpret what's happening as anything good. Even when American voices surround him and the hands touching him are gentle he still thinks it’s just a change of tactic and the torture will start up again any minute.

Danny can barely stand to hear another word but knows he has to take him to the finish line, “So what kind of shape were you in when they got you out of there?”

It takes a good while for him to answer, “Not good.” He shifts under the comforter, “I spent about ... three weeks in a Air Force hospital in Turkey ... some kind of fungal infection ... in my lungs.”

“Shit Steve. If they kept you in a hospital for three weeks it means those bastards nearly killed you.”

“That's what they said, but … , his voice goes low and hollow as he shrugs, “ they always exaggerate.”

Danny doesn't correct him but it’s only because he can't trust his own voice right now.  He watches his breathing slow and feels his body relax just a little. After a while he  wonders if he might have drifted off.

If only.

“I guess it really messed me up ... though–I mean … I was about to start fucking crying in there today–can you believe it?”

“Yeah I can believe it.” Danny’s furious at the way the Seals and the McGarretts and all the other power players in Steve’s life have messed him up. “Christ, babe, look at what you just went through. Any other man would have been laying paralyzed on the floor in a puddle of tears and piss and shit.”

There's a harsh snort from underneath the comforter, “Yeah but I know how to do this … I’ve bee interrogated before and always kept it together. This time I was even pretty sure you knew my location.” Steve shakes his head, “But, the minute I saw them filling that tub I thought I was going to lose it.” He braces like what he's about to say might make him shatter in a million pieces, “ I even fucking ... pissed myself when they dragged me over there–”

"You know how to do this?" Who knows how to do this, Steve? _This_ is barbarian – this is just about the cruelest, most terrifying torture imaginable. You know how to do this–not once but twice?“

Danny goes quiet, but only because he's fighting back the sob that’s trying to rip its way out of his throat.

“I just mean ... it surprised me ... I've never been so damned scared before in my life.”

Danny's holding his breath–he sees Steve in that tub of filthy water, sees him being forced under, over and over again until he nearly dies. He asks God and Allah and every other God in the universe to help him find the right words, “Listen to me, babe, five years ago ... you barely came out of being tortured the way you were today with your life.  Having to live through that nightmare again–that exact same nightmare, hoping but not sure any of us would be coming to get you out, is enough to level the strongest, bravest mother fucker on the face of the earth. If you were scared shitless it doesn't mean you're soft or losing it, it means you're human ... you know, the thing you're always trying to prove you're not?”

The way Steve snorts and presses back against him is his way of saying thank you. Danny knows that, knows it in his mind and his heart and his gut. He can't see his face but he feels his body relaxing and hears his breathing getting slower and deeper. _Thank you God and Allah and Buddha to boot._

As he settles back against Danny something feels different to Steve, too, and it's not just the sudden utter exhaustion that feels like he's just gotten one of those trauma kit syringes of morphine. It makes no sense, all he did was tell Danny his story and admit to being scared out of his fucking mind, why the hell is the ache in his chest finally easing up?

“You still with me, babe,” Danny whispers.

“Yeah.” Then after a deep yawn, "l'm still … with you.”


End file.
